


The Wedding Collection

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Jurassic Park - All Media Types, Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Butterfly Effect, Canon-Typical Violence, Chaos Theory, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Dinosaurs, F/M, Humor, M/M, Multi, Multiverse, Plot, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 19:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15517191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Loki and En Dwi, eventually, are to be married.Of course, there is the small case of bypassing Loki's soon-to-be brother-in-law, and this retrieval is the most obscene of all he has suggested. As is ever the way with this sort of thing, nothing goes as planned.Why ever did Loki expect it to?





	The Wedding Collection

Loki sits very, very still at Taneleer’s work desk. His elbows are rested against the glass surface of its top, and his fingers are loosely interlinked beneath his chin, letting him lean against his hands. It is some time in the early morning, and this is the sixth of the retrievals Loki has agreed to perform for him.

As with everything, this is En Dwi’s fault.

As with everything, despite it being En Dwi’s fault, Loki is sat down here with Taneleer, and En Dwi is still in bed. Ordinarily, Loki would enjoy hearing Taneleer’s ridiculous plans and desires, but as of recent, their relationship is strained by more than Taneleer’s ordinary territorialism at Loki’s connection to En Dwi.

Here are the facts: Loki has been at En Dwi’s for nearly one thousand _years,_ outside of the bizarre time sequence of Sakaar, and finally, finally, after all this time – they are to be married. Loki can scarcely stand it, can scarcely _believe_ it, that En Dwi is actually considering this, that En Dwi can possibly want him—

And here is another fact.

Taneleer Tivan does not _want_ Loki to marry his brother. Taneleer Tivan would, ideally, see Loki dead, or at least, away from En Dwi Gast. The latter two are equally displeasing, and so Loki had agreed to perform _thirty_ favours for him – thirty! Thirty! In his life, Loki has never done one man thirty favours!

And of course, Taneleer is turning them into tasks reminiscent of the labours of Herakles, but _harder_.

“I want eleven plant species,” Taneleer says, finally. “And nine animal species.” Taneleer is doing this on purpose. Loki _knows_ he is doing this on purpose. Pressing his lips together, Loki looks past Taneleer to the screen, where the twenty species are laid out in a square on the projected screen.

“If I might just confirm,” Loki begins delicately, his tone slow and thoughtful. “You wish for me to travel through a dimensional portal, to this universe wherein there are neither Elders nor gods, to retrieve eleven plant samples and nine samples… of dinosaurs.”

 _“Technically,”_ Taneleer says, and Norns, Loki hates him. Norns, Loki only wishes he could kill him on a permanent basis – Loki knows if he did try to kill Taneleer, he would get back up again quite soon. “They are not dinosaurs. They are dinosaurs hybridised with frogs.” Loki frowns.

“And tell me. I presume you’re putting me at a specific point in the time stream.”

“There are three entry points.”

“… Three.”

“Yes. The initial twenty species—” Loki feels his nostrils flare as he inhales, and he scowls at Taneleer.

“Then this is not one favour, Taneleer. This is three.” Taneleer frowns, his white brows furrowing.

“No! This is—”

“ _Three_.”

“Fine.” Taneleer crosses his arms over his chest, scowling at Loki, and Loki glances to the screen again. These are the initial twenty, then – if these are developed with a mix of dinosaur DNA and frog DNA, Loki would imagine they somehow evolve or are further developed in their hybridisation over time, and so later on in the time stream…

Fine. _Fine_.

Mimicking Taneleer’s stance, he crosses his arms over his own chest, and he looks at Taneleer for a long few moments, seeing the shine of light in his eyes – he thinks, however wrongly, that this is the moment where Loki will announce his resignation, where he will say he will give up on marrying En Dwi, simply because Taneleer makes things slightly difficult for him.

Ha.

He doesn’t know Loki, just yet.

He will.

“Give me the plan, then,” he says, his expression expectant, and Taneleer stares at him. He retains his mulish expression for a few moments, but then it softens, just slightly, and there is a shine of something in his dark eyes. Recognition, perhaps – even the barest smidgen of respect.

When Taneleer turns away, picking up a tablet computer to show him, Loki smiles.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

Ian steps slowly from the helicopter, and he puts his hand out, offering a winning smile. Hammond hesitates, just for a second – Ian makes him uncomfortable, and Ian knows it, but he doesn’t mind. Hammond’s an old man with prejudice coming out of his ears, and it’s, ha, it’s pretty funny. Hammond takes the hand, and Ian gently supports him down onto the helipad, reaching to offer the same to Doctor Sattler, who leaps down with an obvious delight.

Doctor Grant frowns at him, but he takes Ian’s hand, and Ian feels his lips twitch – Grant’s hands are broad and rough with hard work, their palms hard, and Ian waggles his eyebrows at Gennaro, who rolls his eyes before letting Ian help him down. Helicopters – Ian likes helicopters. Or, at least, he likes them once he’s no longer _in_ them.

So much risk involved.

The journey toward the park proper isn’t too long, but it’s as they’re stepping into the resort, lingering in the doorway, that they hear a rumble on the air. Ian glances up at the distant thunder, his lips parting, and he sees Hammond frown.

“That a storm?” Ian asks. “That seems real close.”

“Let us continue with the tour,” Hammond says, waving an uncaring hand and leaning on his cane as he leads them inside. “This is a state of the art facility – a little rough weather will hardly cause any trouble.” Inside the resort centre, there are two men waiting for Hammond, and they both rise at the sight of him.

One is some kinda safari guy, with angular features and a hat like Doctor Grant’s, dressed all in beige canvas and with about nine hundred pockets. He looks like a game warden, and that makes Ian’s stomach twist uncomfortably in his chest. But the other guy—

Ian looks him up and down, taking him in. He’s a tall man, not quite as tall as Ian himself, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His skin is pale as marble, and he has thin, pink lips, his eyes a shining, pale blue. He’s a little… Unorthodox. Ian kinda likes that. He sees the black hair, long and silky, tied up into a loose bun at the back of his head with a few strands artfully loose, and there’s a bar through the side of one ear, a ring through his nose, and when his lips part open, Ian can see there’s a bar through his tongue as well, all silver. Despite the hippie-long hair and the _facial_ piercings, he wears a clean-cut, black suit that is tailored to the leg, the shoulder and the hip, and he’s…

Pretty.

Instead of looking to Hammond, like the warden, he looks right at Ian.

“En Dwi?” he says, taking a step forward and looking Ian from head to toe, his head tilted slightly to the side. It’s a nice accent – British, sexy. He seems to realise, however, that Ian isn’t what he thinks he is, and then freezes, leaning back just slightly.

“On Dwee?” Ian repeats, slowly. What, is that a _name_? “No, honey, I, uh— Ian. Ian Malcolm.” Immediately, he puts his hand out, and the Brit looks at it for a second before he takes it, shaking it. Gee, if Ian thought _Grant’s_ hands were hard – this guy’s palm is made like it’s hewn outta stone, and it’s so _chilly_.

“Doctor Malcolm,” the Brit murmurs, with a nod of his head, and he glances to Hammond.

“Mr Bölson,” Hammond says. His smile is full of warmth, and Loki inclines his head delicately as he steps forward, shaking Hammond’s hand. “Your, uh— Taneleer couldn’t make it himself?”

“I apologise, Mr Hammond, my—” Bölson stops, clearing his throat, and then smiles slightly. “My _employer_ is a busy man indeed. He is dealing with a rather complex engagement, and could not break away. He sends his regrets, and sends me in his stead.”

“And, uh—” Ian breaks in. Bölson glances at him, his dark eyebrows raising. “What exactly are you, if you don’t mind me asking? You know, I’m a chaotician, these guys are a palaeobotanist and a palaeontologist respectively… I mean, with the lawyer as well, what kinda expertise do you offer?”

“A chaotician,” Bölson repeats softly, seeming to find some kind of amusement in it. He knows what a chaotician _is_ , to be sure, but he seems like he thinks it’s _funny_. A mathematician himself, maybe? Nah. They wouldn’t hire in somebody else when there’s him… He glances to Gennaro. The lawyer is staring at Bölson himself. Oh, _okay_.

“My employer is a consultant with the InGen team,” Bölson murmurs, delicately adjusting his cuffs. “ _Me_ , why. I have no skills to speak of.”

“Oh, Loki here is telling lies,” Hammond says, patting Bölson’s shoulder in a way that seems more casual than Bölson would like. “He’s a meteorologist, and is running his _own_ studies on the weather patterns over the island.”

“Did you know about the storm?” Grant asks. His hands are in his pockets, his elbows bowed out slightly from his hips, and Bölson looks at him gravely, nodding his head.

“It’s changed somewhat unexpectedly. It wasn’t meant to land in until much later today, in the late afternoon, but it was hit by a freak wind. The storm will break over Isla Nublar in the coming hours… I fear they won’t be able to take the tour of the island you had scheduled, Mr Hammond.”

“He’s right,” the warden says, his arms crossed over his chest. “My name is Robert Muldoon, I’m the warden here… There’s no sense doing the tour in the midst of a storm. Even assuming the tour itself went without issue, your visibility will be nothing to speak of. We need to stay inside, away from the paddocks, and that triceratops is—”

“Robert, _Robert_ ,” Hammond says, patting the side of his shoulder. ”Calm down with the _alarmism_. Come, let us bring our guests inside… You can begin the first part of the tour, at least.” He bustles off into the room, and Ian watches as Bölson introduces himself to Grant and Sattler. He recognises _them_ , too, like he knows every one of them already, but—

He even seems to recognise Gennaro. _Weird_.

Yeah, this guy, maybe he is a metereologist, but Ian isn’t sure that’s all he is.

“Mr Tivan is a huge part of the InGen investorship,” Gennaro says quietly, looking Bölson up and down. “But I’ve never met him, I hear he’s…”

“Utterly freakish?” Bölson suggests, and Gennaro laughs nervously. Ian walks beside them, listening carefully. Ahead of them, Sattler is shifting a large, broad leaf in her hand, and talking rapidly to Grant. They’re both very attractive, really: they fit against each other really well. Best not to think about it. “Mr Tivan is a consummate eccentric, Mr Gennaro, but please don’t take his sending me for a concern with your estimations. He merely had some concerns as to weather patterns over the island, and requested that I come in yesterday.”

“So, lemme—” Ian laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “What kinda guy has a trained meteorologist as his _PA?_ What, you got bored of all the glory going to the weather girls?” Bölson smiles, the expression full of warmth and amusement, and he brushes an errant lock of black hair from his head.

“As I said, Doctor Malcolm, a _consummate_ eccentric.”

“Sure, that explains _him_. Where’s the explanation for _you_?” Bölson blinks, his lips parting, and he looks at Ian for a long few moments, as if genuinely taken aback.

“I—”

“Come come, onto the tour! You missed this part yesterday, right, Loki?” Hammond asks, and Bölson wrinkles his nose.

“Oh, Mr Hammond, I hardly think that’s necessarily, we might merely—”

“Come on,” Hammond says, grabbing hold of his hand and patting it affectionately. Bölson smiles slightly, taking the affection with evident delight, and then he gives a little nod of his head.

“Very well, Mr Hammond,” he murmurs. “If it pleases you.”

“Of course it does!” Hammond limps away, leaning heavily on his cane, and Bölson slides slowly into a seat on the coaster beside Ian, crossing one leg neatly over the other. His posture is picture-perfect, his shoulders drawn up tightly and squarely, his hands loosely folded in his lap. He’s like a damned _prince_ in a storybook.

The cold radiates off him, and it’s, uh, it’s definitely weird. Ian’s never felt a guy so damned cold – it’s one thing for somebody to have a slightly hinky bloodflow, to have cold extremities, even to run a little bit chilly by a degree or so, but _Bölson_ …

Bölson notices that Ian is looking at him, and he meets his gaze, but then Grant and Sattler sit down beside him, and Bölson smiles. They don’t seem to think Bölson is quite as weird as Ian does himself, but Ian can see that _Sattler’s_ pretty interested… In both of them. He can see the way she glances at Ian’s trousers, the way he sits with his thighs spread apart (bad habit, but what can ya do?), at the pendant hanging around his neck.

The tour starts.

God, it’s… It’s _cute_ , it really is. Ian likes the stupid little cartoon, likes Hammond’s hokey little performance. But the park itself? God. Gee. This is, mmm, a terrible idea. In pretty much every way. And Ian isn’t believing it just yet, but…

Cloning. Genetics. _Dinosaurs_.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

“Mr Hammond,” Muldoon says, and Loki glances at him. His heart had all but swelled in his chest at the sight of the tiny little velociraptors, to _sweet_ and so delicate as they break from their egg casings, but Loki had kept his distance. He is to retrieve the genetic material Nedry was destined to pilfer later tonight, but… That was before the storm moved. Not one of these scientists will be able to leave the island tonight. Everyone is going to be forced to stay here, in the resort… “We’ve brought in the triceratops, she’s down in the—”

“Well,” Hammond says, clapping his hands together and seeming excited. The triceratops, the sick triceratops. Originally, Ellie Sattler was meant to remain behind to treat the triceratops, but with the storm they’ve been forced to bring it from the paddock and here, to the scientific facility. “I’m afraid the tour is out of the question tonight, but… Would you like to see a dinosaur, a real dinosaur, close up? Not one of these little babies but—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sattler and Grant say as one, and Loki inhales slightly. He had withstood the tour yesterday afternoon, resting in the strange little car on the line. It had been rather peaceful, in all honesty – he had sat cross-legged in one of the front seats, and they had turned the volume of the screens down. Loki had already known the biological elements of the individual animals and plants, but Muldoon had been full to the brim with _actual_ information. How the animals hunt, how they respond to stimuli, how they respond to humans.

Muldoon is a pleasant man, grim and sharp at his edges, but Loki rather likes that.

They move into the next room, moving down the metal stairs and into the veterinary facility. The triceratops is laid on its side, breathing heavily, and immediately Loki moves forward, rolling up his sleeves. He sets his fingers on the side of its hard skull, hushing it in a soft undertone, and he lets a little energy seep out from his fingers, the seiðr soothing a little of the dizziness and the pain. The triceratops groans softly, but then relaxes, and Loki gently pats the bone at its nose.

“Poor creature,” Loki murmurs, and he gestures for Doctor Sattler to come closer. “Doctor, here… Look at her tongue.” Sattler crouches down, examining the pustules that have formed on the poor animal’s tongue and the inside of her gums, and Loki steps up and away.

The triceratops is _here_ , then… But the tyrannosaurus, surely, must still be within her paddock – all of the paddocks are still behind their electrified fencing, and with none of the staff able to leave the island, Nedry will be under much more extensive scrutiny. Loki sets his jaw. He ought have expected this, of course – to mess with established timelines is never as easy as one might imagine. Stepping away from the triceratops, he draws the antennae up from his cellular telephone, and he punches in a number.

“You gonna be able to get signal with that thing? The storm’s getting real close,” says a scientist, arching his eyebrows.

“It is to be surmised,” Loki replies, and he lifts it to his ear.

Tivan’s voice is crackling and thick with static, and he says, “ _The timeline has shifted_.”

“Yes,” Loki says. “I didn’t expect this. I presume that you did?”

 _“Well. Yes.”_ Loki rolls his eyes, his lips parting, and he waits, expectantly, for a few moments. There is silence on the other end of the line, merely allowing a crackle of interference to ring through, and Taneleer says, “ _Well_?”

“What do you mean, _well_? What, pray, would you like me to do?”

“ _Complete the mission_.” Loki shifts his jaw, squeezing his hand into a fist at his side. Doctors Grant and Sattler are focused on the triceratops, as is the lawyer Genarro, but Malcolm? Doctor Malcolm is looking at Loki. His hands are in his pockets, his lips loosely quirked into a smile, and he watches Loki with curiosity on his face, blinking at him slowly.

“May I speak with En Dwi?” Loki asks quietly. “I assume he’s out of bed, by this hour.” There is a pause at the other end of the line, and then the line smooths out, the crackle fading away.

“ _Hey, baby. What’s, uh, what’s up?”_

“I’m looking at your double,” Loki murmurs, keeping his eye contact with Malcolm across the room. The set of his jaw, his eyes, his _nose_ even… It’s all En Dwi. “Right this moment.”

“ _Ooh! I love it when, uh, they recycle faces, from universe to universe.”_ It’s a deeply unsettling sentence, for several reasons, and Loki swallows.

“They?” he repeats, dryly.

“ _Figure of speech, honey.”_

“Mmm hmm,” Loki hums, unconvinced, but trying to ignore the nausea bubbling within him.

“ _How, uh, how’s the dinosaurs_?”

“Technically they aren’t dinosaurs,” Loki replies. “They are dinosaurs hybridised with frogs.”

“ _Has, uh, has phone sex been invented in that timeline yet?”_

“Phones _exist_ , so yes, I expect so.” There’s low laughter on the other end of the line, low and sultry. Loki grins.

“ _So, uh, baby. What are you wearing?”_ Loki hangs up.

“That— That your girlfriend?” Malcolm asks. He’s made his way closer, and he is looking Loki up and down as if Loki is a specimen himself. Loki meets his gaze, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Those two are looking at a real life, in the flesh, _dinosaur_ … And you’re watching me speak on the telephone,” Loki says mildly. “What says that of you, Doctor Malcolm?”

“That I’m, uh, that I’m a real _people_ person.” Loki sees the stiffness in his form – Malcolm is uncomfortable with the animals, that Loki can see quite plainly. Loki had heard the discomfort, the indignation, in his voice as he had argued with Hammond as to the state of the velociraptors. _Life, uh, finds a way_. Cute. “Besides, didn’t I just hear you say, ha, that they _aren’t_ dinosaurs? That they’re dinosaurs hybridised with frogs?”

“You’re very intelligent,” Loki says, and Malcolm laughs.

“You say it like you’re _accusing_ me of something.”

“I am,” Loki replies. Above them, there is a roll of thunder, hard and heavy on the air. Loki sees Malcolm shift just slightly, his chin raising, and Loki smiles. “Don’t be frightened,” he murmurs, and he reaches out. He puts his left hand gently on Malcolm’s shoulder – perhaps, after all this time with En Dwi, he oughtn’t be quite so kind, quite so _caring_ of what some petty little human on a far-distant world, of a far-distant universe, might think of him… But in all honesty, time with En Dwi has made him more determined to lean into his kindness.

En Dwi won’t do it, after all. Somebody needs to.

“I’m not frightened,” Malcolm says. Loki knows it to be a lie before the three words reach their completion, feeling them deep in his chest. This is his domain, much as this fellow might not know it.

“Doctor Malcolm,” Loki says softly. “With all due respect… You’re absolutely terrified.” Thrown by a tyrannosaurus, forced to tourniquet his own broken leg, sustaining severe blood poisoning, driving away from a tyrannosaurus whilst looking it in the eye the entire time, and nearly dying in the midst of it all half a dozen times… “I will not lie to you, Doctor. You have good reason to be. Your hypothesis, in my view, is quite right. No man can impose his order upon the universe, not truly, not forever, and certainly not in the way of life itself.”

Malcolm stares at him for a long few moments, his deep brown eyes resting heavily where they look at Loki’s own. Loki sees the shift of the apple in his throat, sees him swallow, and then he asks, “So… That was your girlfriend?”

“My fiancé,” Loki says. Malcolm’s lip quirks up at the side.

“You, uh, you been married before?”

“Twice. Once widowed, once divorced.” Malcolm’s expression changes, and Loki sees the shine of sympathy in his eyes, his lips parting. He is divorced several times himself, but not widowed, never widowed.

“Oh, I’m— I’m sorry. Gee, you’re so _young_ , that’s a lot.” Loki chuckles, and he slowly shakes his head.

“I’m not so young as I look, Doctor Malcolm,” Loki murmurs. “How many children have you?”

“How many—” Malcolm trails off, his head tilting just slightly to the side, his hands shifting on his hips. “I really give off— I give off that vibe, huh?”

“Yes,” Loki says. “It is a most specific… vibe.” Malcolm chuckles, his fingers shifting up to brush over his lips, and once again Loki is struck by the similarity between his face, his mannerisms, and those of En Dwi. En Dwi had called it the multiverse getting _lazy_ … What a thought is that, to think that the multiverse might reuse faces from one universe to the next.

“I have three. A daughter, Kelly, she’s the oldest, she’s eight, and uh, and two sons. Alex, he’s six, and uh, and David. He’s four.” Loki smiles, and he thinks of the girl, Kelly… Will things happen, as they would have done, in four years to come? Who is to say? “And yourself?”

“I—” Loki exhales, slowly. “I had six children, once.” He feels the ache in his chest that had come after Ragnarok – knowing Sleipnir, knowing Fenrisúlfr and Jormungandr, burned up with Asgard, following Narfi and Valí, who died so long ago… And all of his children, now ruled over by Hel. He realises his expression is distant and far away, because Malcolm gently touches his arm.

“The divorce?” Malcolm asks.

“No,” Loki says. He sees Malcolm inhale, sees the horror in his face, the _terror_. There is nothing quite so unspeakable as to lose a child, and to lose six… Loki smiles, wanly, aiming to offer some comfort, and says, “but I’ll have a step-daughter, now. Her name is Va Nee. She’s—” Loki laughs, quietly. “It would be a lie, were I to call her a good girl. But she’s smart as a whip.”

“Va Nee… And En Dwi. What, En Dwi’s your, uh, your brother-in-law? To be? You guys Iranian, or— Or from the Middle East, somewhere? Those names don’t sound familiar.”

“We’re certainly foreign,” Loki says.

“Yeah, name like _Loki_. Not too common around these parts. I, uh… I was _fascinated_ by Loki, when I was— When I was a kid, you know. Chaos.” Loki takes a step forward, spreading his hand on Malcolm’s chest, and he _feels_ with his seiðr, feeling for the tell-tale threads of worship. He does not find them – what a shame.

“Chaos,” Loki says. “You fear it, don’t you? Me, I fear order.” He drags his hand away, and he sees the confusion in Malcolm’s face, the _frown_.

“Well!” Hammond says, clapping his hands together. “If you all want to follow me, my grandchildren are finally here, and we are to settle, ah, for lunch!”

“Grandchildren,” Malcolm repeats, frowning, and Loki smiles.

“They’re good kids,” Loki murmurs, and he nods for Malcolm to follow him. “Come, come. You ought eat something.” For a long moment, Malcolm looks at him like he’s said something bizarre, something _strange_ … But he follows. That is the crucial thing.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

“Could you, uh, could you pass the bread, Doctor Sattler?”  Sattler does, taking up the basket and passing it over, and Ian breaks the bread into a few pieces, taking some of the baked cheese and eating it easily. It’s Mediterranean – it’s real nice. Sattler is eating some kind of quiche, and Grant— Well, of _course_ he is. He’s eating a steak.

Bölson, though, he’s barely eating anything. He’s eaten a small salad, mostly picking out the leaves of spinach and leaving the lettuce behind, avoiding the tomatoes and the cucumber, too.

“You a vegetarian, Mr Bölson?” Sattler asks, and Bölson glances up, as if surprised to be addressed.

“Uh—” he glances at Grant’s steak, and his nose wrinkles slightly. “American meats tend to be highly processed, and the way it’s farmed… Forgive me. I’m somewhat squeamish. We must allow each other our small foibles.”

“You want to try some of this?” Ian asks, holding up the feta.

“I can’t really digest dairy products,” Bölson says helplessly, and he shrugs his black-clad shoulders. “You two are each, uh— Vegetarians?” Sattler slowly nods her head, and then she glances to Ian.

“I, uh, you know. I keep kosher.” He sees Bölson’s lips move, repeating the word _kosher_ under his breath, as if he’s never heard it before. That’s… _Weird_. He’s just so weird. Something’s catching in the very back of Ian’s head, a few things that aren’t quite matching up…

He’ll get to them.

“So, Mr Bölson—”

“Please,” Bölson says. “Call me Loki.” He’s charming, with Sattler, offering her a warm smile and gently brushing his fingers over her hand, but Ian can see it’s kind of detached. He’s effortlessly physical – he doesn’t do it like Ian does, to make a point, or to seduce. He just does it naturally, as if making contact is _part_ of language for him.

“Loki,” Sattler repeats. “Well, uh, I’m Ellie – and this is Alan, of course.” Alan smiles. He’s handsome, when he smiles – not as handsome as Ellie is pretty, but handsome enough. Very handsome.

“Metereologist, you said. You know much about dinosaurs?” Alan asks.

“Oh, I know as much as Mr Hammond does, at least,” Loki says, and Alan _laughs_. Ellie grins, hiding her mouth behind her hand, and they look to the next table. The restaurant is bustling with people, each of the tables full to the brim with a mix of staff from different departments, all staff that wouldn’t have been here if it weren’t for the storm landing in. Hammond is at a table with his grandchildren, Genarro, Muldoon, and the two IT workers: Nedry, and Ray Arnold. “I don’t like them as you do, I expect, Alan.”

“Nobody does,” Alan says mildly, and Loki smiles. Ian inhales, leaning on his hands. “But these— I don’t know. I don’t know. They’re beautiful animals, they are, but… That triceratops is one thing. But Muldoon, he was telling us about the raptors.” Ian thinks about the eggs in the laboratory, how _small_ the little things had been. Deadly killing machines, just as babies.

And if those things breed in the wild… Assuming that they aren’t already.

“You carry a raptor claw, young Tim was saying,” Loki says. “Isn’t that true?”

“Sure,” Alan says. “Doesn’t mean I’d want to see a full-grown one up close.” Alan’s lips are slightly parted, his expression conflicted. He _would_ like to see one up close, but there’s fear there, too – of course there’s fear. Of course there is. How could there not be?

But then, ha. That’s coming from Ian. Ian fears everything, one way or the other. That’s the thing about chaos – Ian started learning about mathematics hoping to find order in the universe, hoping he would be able to finally predict stuff, _understand_ stuff… And all he found was more chaos. What could be more frightening than that?

“Are you married, Loki?” Ellie asks, and Loki smiles.

“Not yet,” Loki murmurs. “We haven’t set a date, but… Soon.” He pauses for just a moment, his expression frozen into an expression of mild frustration, and then he glances politely between Ellie and Alan. “And yourselves?”

“Oh,” Alan says. “No.”

“No,” Ellie agrees. They are looking at one another, and Ian can feel the uncertainty between the two of them, the way they are each caught off-balance. “But—”

“One day,” Alan says.

“Yes,” Ellie says. As one, the two of them look to Ian.

“Periodically,” he says. “I _am_ married.” Loki laughs, showing his teeth, and Ian sees the shift of his tongue, sees the shine of the silver bar through it. Forget who hires a _meteorologist_ as a PA – who hires a guy with facial piercings? With a bar through his tongue? “She pretty?”

“She who?” Loki asks. Ian frowns.

“Your fiancée?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Loki says, shoving his hair back from his face and seeming to snap back to awareness. He seems so… _confused_. “Yes, yes, of course, my— My fiancée. She’s very… Pretty, yes. She is akin, in spectacle, to the collision of two binary stars. Incomparable in incandescence, brilliantly bright, and so beautiful one feels, just for a moment, the existential terror of being but a speck of dust in a wide-ranging universe…” They’re all staring at him. Ellie and Alan are looking at Loki as if he’s mad, but Ian, he’s… He’s touched. Loki says the words with such genuine feeling, letting them come off his tongue like he’s never spoken like this about anybody before… Almost shyly, Loki chuckles, and he looks down at his late, which is still full of untouched salad. “She’s quite lovely, yes.”

Great speech, for somebody who forgets who they were talking about a second ago.

Another thing to add to the list, Ian guesses. More stuff doesn’t match up about Loki Bölson than _does_.

“It must be nice,” Ian says softly. “To find… To have somebody that, uh, that you love like that. Sounds so permanent.”

“Sometimes, one merely needs to find the person, or, ah, _people_ , that one fits in with.” Ian frowns, furrowing his brow. Loki waits, patiently, until Ellie and Alan each glance toward Ian, looking at him for an explanation Loki will not give. Loki smiles, with a sort of secretive air about him, his eyes full to the brim with implication.

Oh.

Funny.

“Sounds like a fun weekend,” Ian murmurs, and waggles his eyebrows. Ellie smiles, and Alan looks slightly uncomfortable. Strangely enough, he’s handsome whilst slightly uncomfortable, too. _Adorable_.

Loki is no longer watching them. He’s watching Hammond’s table, perhaps looking for Hammond to be finished… Or no, no. The IT man, one of them, stands up: at the same time, Loki does too, and he follows him very closely.

Weird.

 _Weird_.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

The storm lands proper, and when a bolt of lightning flashes bright at the windows, Loki feels a pang of homesickness. It has been a long time since he has seen Thor – over twenty years now, and with the invitation to the wedding…

Norns, Loki doesn’t even know if he’ll _come_.

Guilt flares low in his belly, and he exhales, leaning against the window as he watches the storm come low over the forest. Nedry had walked to the vending machine, ordered three packets of potato crisps, and returned to his desk. He is antsy, visibly so, but too frightened to act in the meantime…

Loki wonders when it will all go wrong. It _must_ go wrong, it has to – it has to.

“Hey, uh, hey, Loki,” Ian says from behind him, and Loki turns. “There’s a piano down in the ballroom – we’re, uh, we’re thinking we’ll have kind of, um… A sing-song.”

“A sing-song,” Loki repeats. “I don’t sing-song.”

“Don’t you?” Ian asks, and he takes a slow step forward. “You seem, uh, you seem like you have a nice voice. Bet you can sing really nice.” He peers at Loki, for a long few moments, and then glances over his shoulder. The room is empty, but for them. “Is— Listen, Loki. Your, um, your fiancée… She real?”

Norns, he _is_ intelligent.

“She is,” Loki murmurs, and he glances over Ian’s shoulder too. No one else, just them alone. “Although _she_ is named En Dwi, and he’s the brother of my employer, Mr Tivan.” Ian’s lips part. He sees the recognition in his eyes, the surprise, the… quiet _awe_.

“You’ll— You’ll have to go, um, to Denmark, right? That’s your only option?” Loki nods, slowly. “That’s nice. That’s— Beautiful, the way you talk about him, you know…” Ian’s hand goes up to the back of his neck, rubbing it delicately, and he murmurs, “I don’t know. Everyone thinks that if you’re interested in men, I guess, it’s gotta be just about sex, and with the—” Ian swallows. “You know. With the crisis, I mean, that doesn’t help… You really love him.”

“I really do,” Loki murmurs. “Don’t mention it to Mr Hammond, of course. He’s a man of startlingly amusing prejudices.”

“He’s old,” Ian says, shrugging. “We don’t all get that, uh, that privilege, I guess.” It’s a curious thing for such a young man to say. Loki is approaching middle age, now, no longer feeling the spring of youth that once he did, but… Already, his proximity to the Power Primordial is changing him somewhat, moreso even than his magic always did. Such is the nature of evolution, rapid evolution, adapting to that which is around one… Just like these “dinosaurs”.

“You will,” Loki promises.

Ian smiles.

“Come on,” he says, putting out his hand. “A sing-song.”

“I don’t sing, Doctor.”

“Then you can, uh, you can listen.” He isn’t like En Dwi. By no means is this young man, sweet and mild-mannered, so _sensitive_ beneath this rockstar’s demeanour, so intelligent and so kind… He is different indeed to En Dwi. It’s rather lovely, rather exciting, in its own way. Loki takes his hand, and he feels the gentle warmth of his fingers beneat his own.

“Alright,” he murmurs, and he lets Ian lead the way.

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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